


Something by The Rembrandts

by volti



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volti/pseuds/volti
Summary: “What did Nyx do now?”“I did absolutely nothing but bring good tidings, and present the opportunity for you to watch Crowe Altius turn into the most useless lesbian you’ve ever seen.”In which Lunafreya returns from traveling abroad and sets in motion a healthy rivalry between baristas, a serious negotiation over coffee and pastries, and questionable professional relationships regarding ASMR recordings.





	Something by The Rembrandts

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S BEEN 84 YEARS BUT I CAN FINALLY FLING THIS AT ALL OF Y'ALL??? F I N A L L Y
> 
> trust glaive week to light a fire under my ass and start writing yet another coffee shop au, am I right,

There were three reasons, and _only_ three reasons, why Crowe Altius would be cranky during opening:

1) It was a Wednesday,  
2) She was still mildly hungover, or  
3) Nyx had his eyes on someone, again.

Today was two of those things.

Okay, to be fair, what kind of a name was “hump day” for Wednesdays, anyway? It had to be, like, the single most _un_ attractive day, and here it was, touting its nickname every week like it really fuckin deserved it. Why not, you know, _Saturday?_ It even _sounded_ attractive. S for Saturday, S for sexy. God damn, she was a genius sometimes. The world would miss her intellect when she was gone.

And what business did Nyx have practically dancing around The Hearth before he’d even laid eyes on anyone else? Anyone else besides her, of course, because all she was apparently good for was a ruffle of long, messy hair and a chirrup of “Mornin, Little Bird.” But come on. The guy was standing on tiptoe to place cups of yogurt and mixed fruit in the refrigerated display case. He didn’t even _have_ to stand on tiptoe; he only ever did it to make fun of the places she couldn’t quite reach. It was like every motion of his was hard to control.

(Not that that was saying much. Nyx was always hard to control, once something grabbed him by his weird hair and ran away with him.)

“All right,” she finally said, with a defeated sigh; she was halfway through writing the baked goods lineup in a careful script. (It had to be careful, or else it’d turn into the chicken scratch that just barely helped her pass her exams.) “Spill, Nyx.”

“Pretty sure that’s not on the opening checklist.” Nyx was all stupid, dreamy grins as he smoothed out his apron, a navy blue color with a shade that they were all lucky enough to pull off. Crowe wouldn’t have been surprised if that was some secret part of the hiring process here. Or maybe it was a job restricted to hopeless cases. Drautos was always touting the word “potential” like it was meant to be plastered across the bumper of his car.

“You know what I mean,” Crowe said with a roll of her eyes. “What’s got you all… you know, _this?_ ”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Um, yeah.” She gave him her trademark _are-you-fucking-kidding-me_ look over the low, hazy buzz of the playlist she’d flipped on to get her through the shift—she’d have to thank her past self for that. Treat herself to one of the more expensive drinks or something. “That’s kind of why I asked.”

If it was even possible, Nyx’s smile grew. “Our lady’s back in town.”

The chalk tumbled from Crowe’s poised fingers and fell to the floor with a clatter; she barely registered how tightly she was gripping the edge of the counter, how wide her eyes had gone. “Shut the fuck up.”

“If I had a nickel for every time I heard you say that…” That was Pelna unlocking the door and slipping into the shop now, halfway out of his scarf and making a beeline to hang up his coat. Two years of friendship—barely counting how long they’d actually known each other—and Crowe still hadn’t quite put together how he managed to have a casual cheer about him every morning. “What did Nyx do now?”

“I did absolutely nothing but bring good tidings, and present the opportunity for _you_ ”—Nyx paused his work to jab a finger at Pelna, who was pulling his apron over his head—“to watch Crowe Altius turn into the most useless lesbian you’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not _useless…_ ” Crowe muttered. “And I’m bi, thank you.”

For a few seconds Pelna didn’t move; it was only as he began to brew the coffee that he said, flatly, “I don’t think I even want to know what you’re talking about.” That was Pelna for you: mostly silent and focused on his work, with a few wisecracks up polo shirts or ribbed sweater sleeves.

Crowe, for her part, let out an exasperated sigh and returned to her script, embellishing the chalkboard with a few designs. She was never particularly good at it—as much as it begrudged her to say it, this was more of Luche’s thing (if he ever took a damn opening shift for once)—but she made it work.

That was The Hearth for you. Four walls and a tiled backsplash of making it work.

She liked to think they all fit sort of nicely here. Even Luche, for all his insistence on 12 to 7 shifts.

“C’mon, Pel.” Nyx was rounding the counter to examine the opening checklist, throwing an arm around Pelna’s shoulders and pointing outside, like they had more than ten minutes before the first customers arrived. “You can’t tell me you aren’t about to get all gooey when you see _Lunafreya Nox Fleuret_ walk through those doors.”

“Sure I can,” Pelna said simply, unmoving in Nyx’s grip. “I’ve never met her.”

Nyx’s mouth fell open. Crowe didn’t see why it was so surprising; Pelna had only started working here about a year ago. Just after Lunafreya had gone back to England—to find a little more of herself, she said, but Crowe had always had the feeling that she didn’t want to let on that she was homesick in the whirlwind of her job, or ever could be. But that didn’t mean that Pelna wouldn’t fall like the rest of them. An impressionable, well-meaning guy like him? He’d be hopelessly wrapped around her every whim in _seconds._ Crowe was sure of it.

“You’ll meet her soon enough,” Nyx was saying. “And then you’ll memorize her order like the rest of us. And, you know. Never be able to take it, because you’re too lost in her gorgeous eyes…”

“Or the color of her scrubs,” Crowe added, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “You know they call her the Angel of the Pediatric Ward at the hospital? That’s how good she is.”

“And don’t forget her accent.”

“God, her _accent—_ ”

Okay, so maybe the two of them were leaning more than a _little_ hopelessly against various pieces of equipment. Just a little. But Nyx was worse than she was; she practically swore by it. At least she could say hello to Lunafreya. Nyx could barely get through one sentence without stuttering or making an ass of himself with some pickup line he read in some abandoned paperback he’d picked up from a subway bench. Crowe knew Lunafreya was only laughing at the lines out of pity. There was no way they actually worked on her, for all of Nyx’s proud strutting behind the espresso machines once she’d left with her usual order.

Crowe was more than sure she’d have an arm and a leg up on him and everyone else in this damn shop when Lunafreya Nox Fleuret walked through that door today.

… _If_ she walked through that door today.

———

“All right.” Pelna was leaning against the counter between surges of mid-morning customers, arms folded and eyebrow raised, a challenging glint in his eyes. “What’s this ‘Lunafreya’s’ order, then?” God, Nyx and Crowe were all about this mystery woman ever since opening. Like they were expecting some holy being to brighten their doorway, hand them a few blessed bucks, and be on her merry way. And sure, some might categorize _him_ as some kind of disaster, but they seemed so convinced that it was only a matter of time before he went tumbling down with them. At least he wasn’t frantically looking at the clock every time he filled an order.

...He wasn’t _that_ bad when he saw someone cute, was he?

Nyx responded first. “Medium green tea with spearmint, two sugars.”

“Unless she’s not feeling well,” Crowe chimed in. “Then she treats herself a little. Small white chocolate mocha, one pump of raspberry. And a slice of cranberry cake.”

“And how do you know when she’s not feeling well?” Pelna asked.

“You know.” Nyx dried his hands on the front of his apron, seemingly not caring about the dark splotches left in their wake. “She tries to do a good job of hiding it—because, you know, that’s how she is—but you know Lunafreya long enough, you see it in every little way she carries herself.”

Because that wasn’t creepy at all. 

Pelna sighed and rolled his eyes. As grateful as he was that Crowe had gotten him this job, and as much as he cherished his coworkers like family, they sure as hell got on his nerves sometimes. (Maybe that was part of the whole family deal. Maybe he’d just played himself all along. He’d have to get his own congratulations in order.) “How do you even know she’ll come in today? You said her flight came in, what, two days ago? You ever consider that she’s probably unpacking? Or sleeping off jet lag?”

“It’s a five-hour difference,” Crowe said, as if that was supposed to prove her point entirely, and nudged him toward the till again to greet another customer. “And she’s incredibly efficient. It’s practically her middle name.”

“I thought Nox was her middle name.”

“That’s her _last_ name,” said Nyx with a sigh as he cleaned off a steamer. “Nox Fleuret Honestly, Pel, keep up.”

“Jesus. Sorry I’m getting a crash course in my coworker’s courting competition.” Pelna wrinkled his nose. He’d have to be more careful with his words; alliteration sounded so tacky sometimes. Or maybe that was some distant lecture from Luche coming to the forefront of his mind. All this time being a barista, and you would have thought Luche Lazarus would let go of the whole _I was a French Lit major in college_ vibe basically whenever he existed.

That was assuming, of course, that Luche Lazarus let go of anything that wasn’t a stranger in his bed.

Pelna couldn’t help but wonder what kind of horse he had in this game.

“All I’m saying,” he went on in between scribbling names on nondenominational winter cups and sliding them across the bar, “is not to get your hopes up. Travel takes a lot out of you. She’s probably getting used to being here again, if she’s been gone as long as you say she has.”

“What d’you think she was doing there for a whole year?” Crowe mused. “It’s not like her to just… up and leave her commitments behind. You think something happened to her brother?”

“First of all, you really think that’s our business?” Nyx shot back. “And second of all, yes.”

Pelna was starting to get the feeling he could turn this into a game. Try to parse out the things Nyx and Crowe learned directly from Lunafreya, and the things they’d put together from poking around her social media accounts—if she even had them to begin with. But if his own grandmother had had one before, there was no reason some busy nursing student didn’t. At least for networking purposes. From what the others were saying about her, she had to be able to do that much.

“And anyway,” Nyx was saying, giving Pelna a nudge he wasn’t expecting, which threw him just a bit off balance, “If she’s back, I can guarantee that within forty-eight hours, she’ll have visited Insomnia. Which means there’s no reason she wouldn’t stop by The Hearth.”

“So what you’re telling me is”—Pelna stopped to wipe down a spill, to hand off a latte with a typical toothy grin—“Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is going to visit the bakery one block over, and then miraculously have the appetite to visit a cafe right after.”

“It’s less about the pastries and more about the people, y’know,” Crowe explained. “Obviously she’s got to make her rounds and greet everyone she knows. That’s practically in her blood, too.”

“You know, you can just say outright that she has connections to Reggie What’s-His-Face without putting her on a pedestal.” 

“And _you_ could actually remember to respect that _Regis Lucis Caelum_ is the reason any of us has a job at all.”

Oh, Pelna remembered. He just couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a name as ridiculous as _Regis Lucis Caelum._ His son barely counted—a scrawny college-aged kid named Noctis who came every day for a week straight, twice a semester, ordered a dirty _whatever-goes-well-with-espresso_ , and claimed he was ready to fight God when asked how many shots he wanted. A year into this job, and he still had no idea what Noctis Lucis Caelum’s major was, or anything beyond the fact that he barely wanted anything to do with Insomnia.

Crowe sure got touchy about these job things when it came down to it.

Before any of them could speak up again, the bell above the shop door signaled an entrance, and both Nyx’s and Crowe’s faces went deathly pale, then furiously red, almost at the same time. Near-instantly, they turned to busy themselves with the closest thing to them—an espresso machine that needed cleaning, a restocking of the display case. If not for the click of high heel against tile, Pelna might have thought that Drautos was making his entrance for the day—if it had been Luche, he would have made himself known. It was like he was legally obligated to, whenever he came in for his shifts.

“Good fucking luck,” Crowe hissed as she all but shoved him to the register, flashed a sunny smile outward, and went right back to tidying up the counter, and Pelna found himself face-to-face with the calmest, saddest blue eyes he’d ever seen, complemented by a too-polite smile.

Oh.

Oh, God.

_This_ was Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.

To be fair, she certainly was pretty; her cheeks were flushed from the cold weather, golden hair tied in a high ponytail and accented by a couple of braids that, on first sight, Pelna almost mistook for a headband. And she wore a fashionable winter coat—grey, and probably wool—that looked more like a dress than an actual coat. He couldn’t help but feel soothed as she stood there, wallet in hand.

But Pelna tossed a glance at the others, gave her his signature smile with a cup in one hand and a marker in the other, and asked, “What can I get for you, miss?”

He could practically _hear_ their mouths fall open, and rewarded himself a little victory glance out the doors. 

Which was, of course, his biggest mistake. Because there, tied to the lamppost just outside, were two dogs, settled side-by-side, somewhere between sitting and standing as they attempted to peer into the cafe. As if waiting for someone. As if waiting for her. Longing for her.

God, why did he have to be so weak for dogs? No, better question—why did dogs have to be so good and pure practically all the time? Did they know how good they were? Did he know how much he loved them? All of them? Did they know—

Lunafreya cleared her throat then, soft but pointed, and Pelna snapped back to attention with a sheepish blush, still holding the cup. “Sorry ‘bout that, I, uh…” Vaguely, he pointed out the door, almost ashamed of himself for having been distracted so long. “Do you mind repeating your order for me?”

She smiled again—just as polite as the first time—and she spoke quietly, with an English accent. “A small white chocolate mocha, please. With one pump of raspberry syrup. And…” She leaned to the side to peer at the pastry case, quirking her lips. “Have you got any more cranberry cake?”

Pelna had to bite back the urge to ask if everything was all right. Far be it from him to tumble into that rabbit hole. “Yeah—yeah, we do,” he said, and rang her up without a hitch, scrawling her name on the side of her cup. L-U-N-A-F-R-E-Y-A.

Maybe a little more elegant than Reggie What’s-His-Face.

Lunafreya was still smiling, still hiding something in her eyes, when he handed her the order. “Are you fond of dogs?” she asked, casting a glance outside.

“I love them,” Pelna said almost immediately, feeling almost grateful that there was no one behind her in line, and that he could safely go on his break. “Almost broke my ankle running to pet one once… I guess I’m making up for the fact that my landlord doesn’t allow pets.”

“They’re mine, you know,” she mentioned between sips of coffee, and for a fraction of a second, in the moments that Pelna was mixing himself an iced tea, it almost felt like his life was falling together in the best of ways. “Would you like to say hello before we continue our walk?”

Pelna glanced between his drink, Lunafreya’s eyes, and his coworkers’ slack-jawed expressions in a matter of seconds, and offered her another smile. “You know? I’d really like that, yeah.”

Before they exited the shop, Lunafreya made a point to greet Nyx and Crowe, her fingers reaching up to delicately touch the pin in her hair, and Pelna could have sworn he saw Crowe’s soul leave her body for approximately three seconds.

———

“I’m borrowing him,” Nyx declared in the back room at the end of their shift.

“You can’t _borrow_ him,” Crowe protested, free of her apron and halfway into her trusty leather jacket. Nyx remembered she’d had the damn thing ever since she settled up on his couch with the remains of her first ever paycheck. How long ago had that been again? “He’s my best friend! I took him under my wing!”

“Fourteen years together, and you have the gall to have a best friend who isn’t me or Libs.” Nyx clutched his chest in mock offense, then drew himself to half-height against a nearby shelf. “And really? You took him under your wing. Is that what you call what happened in the walk-in fridge?”

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Crowe whip her head around and grab him by the front of his shirt so fast. Maybe street smarts did that to a person. “That was one. Fucking. Time,” she said through clenched teeth, in a voice that intimidated even him. “And it was two years ago. Let it go, Nyx.”

He wasn’t exactly stunned into silence as she shrugged on the rest of her jacket, but there was something pointed about the way neither of them spoke.

“Anyway,” she said, fluffing out her hair over a slightly-worn infinity scarf, “you can’t have him. Get your own wingman. I’m sure Libertus still owes you a few favors.”

“C’mon, Little Bird. You really think I keep tabs on what we owe each other?”

“He does.”

“He would.” Nyx rolled his eyes. Fourteen years of this bullshit. “You realize this is hardly fair. You’ve got someone who’s practically immune to her, and for all we know, he could turn us on our heads and become Rival Number Two. He got her _number_ today, for Christ’s sake.”

“He got her number to walk her dogs, genius, not to take her on a date.” Crowe folded her arms, one leg crossed over the other as she leaned against the doorway, like he was the only thing between her and freedom. (To be fair, he probably was. Not that he cared in the moment. He was a man on a mission, and she knew how he got.) “You’re overthinking this.”

Nyx grinned, scratching at the stubble along his jaw and finally making a grab for his coat. “You mean the way you were overthinking how she touched her hairpin today?”

Crowe’s eyes narrowed, but only for a moment, before a self-assured little smile crossed her face. “First of all, it was a graduation gift, and secondly, you’re missing the entire point. I can give him something in return.”

“What’s that?” Nyx asked. “Another tryst? A heart-to-heart over a pint of ice cream?”

Crowe’s smile grew almost deviously, and she turned on her heel. “Pelna likes a girl.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me over on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/omnistruck) and/or on [Tumblr](http://voltisubito.tumblr.com) for more shenanigans!
> 
> If you enjoyed this and are waiting on the next installment, leave a kudo or a comment! They make me super happy.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!!


End file.
